


When Expectations Run High

by starryvagabond



Series: Marvel Shipping Games 2014 Bonus Rounds [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryvagabond/pseuds/starryvagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a game the two assassins have played with each other for as long as either of them can remember. Which ultimately means Budapest. Everything fucking leads back to goddamn Budapest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Expectations Run High

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Second Bonus Round (Emotions) of the Marvel Shipping Games 2014, for dreamwidth user letthesongtakeflight. The prompt was "Clint/Natasha: Expectant". Unbeta'd, written in an hour. Enjoy.

It's a game the two assassins have played with each other for as long as either of them can remember. Which ultimately means Budapest. Everything fucking leads back to goddamn Budapest.  
  
It starts predictably. They're in a meeting, sitting across the table from each other, and Clint's blue eyes chase her green ones around until they lock gazes. Natasha breaks it when she hears Fury ask her a question, which she answers like she's never stopped listening. But Clint knows better. By the time she starts talking about some secret organization that the two of them are just back from taking down, emerald orbs focus on him again. She gives him that half-smirk, the one that used to drive him up the fucking wall for all the wrong reasons, and she's got him. Just like a damn fly in a spider's web.  
  
God, he just loves it when she talks hidden nuclear weapons to him.  
  
After the meeting, which Fury tries to cut through the obvious haze of lust in Clint's thoughts with minimal success, the spy meets her partner outside. And by meet, she all but walks past him without giving him a second glance. But she _sashays_ her hips as she walks away, because she knows he's watching. All the blood draining from his brain to go elsewhere is making him a little faint.  
  
Natasha pulled this exact shit in Budapest, too. The only (slight) difference was then they _hated_ each other. So Clint expects it now. Almost counts on it. And is disappointed when she's either not in the mood to play or really does just ignore him completely - work always comes first.  
  
He's second. He knows that.  
  
But today she wants it, the archer can tell. It takes all of fifteen minutes for him to corner her in a dark corner of the Avengers Tower and then they're a tangle of limbs, Natasha letting out a whimper so filthy that only Clint's ever had the pleasure of hearing it. He's a bit too eager today, however, and when he pries her lips apart with his tongue, she bites the intruder in her mouth hard enough for him to yelp and for her to taste blood.  
  
"We're doing this my way today," Natasha says, pushing past him and grabbing him by his vest to all but drag him into her apartment.  
  
The door to the apartment slams closed behind them and Natasha drags him over to an armchair that looks like it's something straight out of the 1960s, pushing him unceremoniously into it. " _My_ house, _my_ rules. You don't like it? There's the door," she says, crossing her arms as if she's giving him a precious moment to decide.  
  
Clint doesn't move, just blinks at her expectantly, and she climbs to straddle his lap. Natasha's lips ghost over his, and he now knows better than to lunge ahead like a rambunctious puppy. His breath is controlled, calm even: betraying his body which is now reacting to hers being pressed up against his.  
  
"You almost made me look like an idiot today in front of everyone, you know that?" she scolds in a murmur, though her hand has come up to wrap itself around his throat and in that moment, Clint remembers just how much of a masochist he really is. She expects an answer, but at the same time she doesn't want him to speak or she'll choke the air right out of his lungs.  
  
Again, Clint anticipates this and just nods, gritting his teeth to keep himself from gasping for air. Natasha isn't pushing hard, but he knows she could snap his neck if he made one false move. He loves everything about the redhead but especially her hands. How deadly they are... and how he wouldn't mind dying by them.  
  
So there they were, the spy's hand never leaving the archer's neck as she began to slowly rock her hips against his. Again, it's always like this. Heated fucking, rutting like animals in heat as the adrenaline of a mission gone right coursed through their veins and sometimes there's this aftershock when they return home where they fight for dominance and try to suck the very life out of each other. Today it's the latter.  
  
Clint makes the mistake of growling low in his throat when her still clothed heat brushes over his aching cock and Natasha's hold tightens and her movements increase. "Трахни меня , как животное*," she growls at him and he lunges forward, knocking her off his lap and onto the floor.  
  
Nothing is gentle anymore; fucking hell has broke loose and that's what Natasha expects.  
  
This is a practiced art, so much so that Clint has mastered the fine tuning of undoing buttons and unzipping zippers and then he's inside her _finally_ and she cannot help but scream in her native tongue. It falls on mostly deaf ears, the roar of blood pounding in his veins as he fucks her so hard that by the time they hit completion together the pair are clear across the living room from where they started.  
  
It's over as quick as it started, but the effects will last a while. Clint rolls off of her, panting, staring blankly at the ceiling while Natasha, calm and collected as ever, gets up gingerly to make her way to the bathroom. Clint hears the water run for a minute through the pipes before it's silent again. He knows in a few minutes, he'll smell coffee wafting through the atmosphere to finally coax him up and join his partner in the kitchen.  
  
It is, after all, what he expects.

**Author's Note:**

> *Fuck me like an animal.


End file.
